I Did a Bad Thing: The Infamous Double Down

Oh my good god, what have I done to myself? I wish I had some means to recommend myself to your sympathies, but the honest truth is that I have been a lazy, grump-a-lump, this month and have no blog posts to show for it. Perhaps this evening's gastronomical adventure was a subconscious attempt at foodie flagellation. I have the sinking sensation that some where, some foodie collective will soon be voting to revoke my membership. Or maybe that feeling is just my stomach. All I can say is that I am sorry, so sorry.

In case you don't know, today, KFC released its newest menu addition, the Double Down sandwich. The Double Down is made up of 2 slices of bacon, 2 slices of cheese and Colonel's sauce stuck between two fried chicken filets. That's right boys and girls, no bun. Apparently, there is just too much fried goodness to accommodate a bun. - Oh, I know. Ew. 

When Boyfriend made the suggestion that we try the "sandwich" a few weeks back, I was sure he was kidding. Little did I know the powerful sway which fried foods hold over his heart (and belly). Witness his unparalleled joy, as he savors the last few bites. ("Homp!") At one point Boyfriend looked at me and said: "This is the first day of the rest of our lives." To which I replied, "Assuming we don't die."

Angry Face

Some of the comments I caught from other Double Down dinners, all of whom were male:

"Awesomeness explosion."

"Dude, what I am about to eat isn't normal." 

"After all that wait, it was totally worth it." 

And Boyfriend's words of wisdom: "When eating a Double Down, always bring a buddy in case of spontaneous heart attack."

Honestly, I have eaten at KFC about four or five times in my life. Being from Massachusetts, what I don't know about the art of frying chicken could probably fill Nats Park. However, if you tend to like the somewhat soggy taste of KFC and deep fried bacon, chances are you'll like this sandwich. All I can say is that it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. I doused it in some hot sauce and it was fairly edible. So it's got that going for it, which is nice. 

On the drive home Boyfriend summed up the entire experience succinctly when he said: "This situation will call for constant monitoring for the next two hours. I feel fine now, but I could die in two hours.... or throw up in 45 minutes." 

Cookbook Review: "Spice: Flavors of the Eastern Mediterranean"

If you happen to find yourself planning a trip to Cambridge, Massachusetts any time soon, one of the many fantastic places at which you should eat is Oleana. My family and I went here last year and the meal we shared ranks as one of my all time most mind-blowingly awesome meals. To this day, I have no idea what I ate, but whatever it was, it engaged all five of my senses in a complete full-body experience.

So I decided to buy the cookbook. Spice: Flavors of the Eastern Mediterranean. 

For weeks I have been dying to try anything from this book; it is so neat. The book is organized by flavor combinations rather than courses. Given the increased likelihood of my spectacular failure when dealing with new flavors, I opted for the galette of tender pork with cumin and cider, which looked like the exact, right amount of effort for a Sunday afternoon cooking adventure. Armed with all the ingredients and a brand-spanking-new dutch oven, I set to it.

[Love note to my dutch oven: Hi, Gorgeous. Look at you, with your inviting, burnt red enameling. How could I resist? You idly glance over at me from the stove, like a giant cat dozing on a warm radiator. Well, hello. I just know we are going to have a long and filling relationship of meats, stews and casseroles. Welcome home. Let's try not to make the other cookware jealous].

Waiving my novice flag high, here, I'll admit that I have never worked with a multiple pound cut of pork before. I was nervous, but it wasn't too difficult once I decided to go all-in in cutting it up. Then I rubbed the pork down with a ton of salt, garlic and cumin and braised it in cider for several hours.  The worst and best part of braising is the smell. At first, all I could smell was the garlic and cumin, mostly because I was smelling myself. Having worked both into the meat somewhat vigorously, I inevitably rubbed it well into my own skin. Not that I have a problem with that. After about an hour of braising, the warm, spicy smell of cider began to waft through my apartment. YUM! I took the meat out to cool before I ripped it apart and reformed it into patties for pan frying. Believe it or not, I used to be afraid of touching raw meat and chicken. Embarrassing. Really. However, I have come a long way; I really enjoyed pulling the pork apart with my fingers, separating out the fat and other bits. Ah-ha! My inner germophobe knew what it was to be roasted in the depths of the Slor that day, let me tell you!

I also tried my hand at the dolmas, which is just a grape (or other) leaf, stuffed with rice or other deliciousness. These little Swiss chard rice bombs were frakkin' amazing, despite the fact that I haven't quite figured out Swiss chard. Swiss chard has so much going on flavor-wise, but the leaves are huge. Every time I saute rather than blanch it, I feel like I am fighting lobsters into a pot. The giant leaves loll out the sides like legs or giant tongues trying to escape my skillet. "Ged in there!" ( I suppose I could tear/chop them up a bit, but where is the drama in that?) The dolmas, which were filled with spicy rice with onions, garlic, red pepper paste and a hint of mint, were surprisingly easy to make. I served everything with a side of greek yogurt to complement the spicy rice. Highly recommended.

Although a lot of the recipes in this book are somewhat labor intensive and certain ingredients may be difficult to find, (Hence my going with recipes that included ingredients with which I was already familiar.), it will be a great addition to my library, especially as my skill improves. So if you're looking to branch out into some exciting flavor combinations from Europe and the Mediterranean, check out this book.

Food Notes from My Sick Bed

Activity in my kitchen came to a screeching halt last week when I managed to contract not only strep throat, but the flu as well. Before I got sick I had all sorts of different post ideas in mind, which I no longer have time to develop in full. In the interest of purging my head of these buzzy bees, I thought I would do my own little weekly blog roundup, made up entirely of my mental cranberry stew of half baked reviews, recipes and Theraflu induced-reveries.

Art and Soul. As I mentioned, my parents were in town a few weeks ago. The first stop on my parents foodcation in D.C. was Art and Soul. For me, the meal began and ended with the lamb loin hoecake. Everything was delicious, but this little plate was so packed with flavors, from the tender lamb to the sweet pickled onions and cucumbers and light dressing. It was like a heavenly gyro. When the food gods want a gyro, they call out for one of these hoecakes.

Founding Farmers. Apparently, I am the last person in the D.C. area to know that this restaurant is awesome. I ordered the mixed grill (fried chicken, bratwurst, pork ribs and cole slaw), so I could sample as many meat dishes as possible as well as a side of mac 'n' cheese. Extravagant, I know, but as my favorite foods go, mac 'n' cheese is right up there with bread pudding. And I had heard things about this mac 'n' cheese. This mac 'n' cheese is the best mistake you'll ever make. Holy Mackerel! I wanted to bury my face in the stuff. Whew. Also, the pot roast was singular is its unique depth and subtle sweetness which we couldn't quite place (anise? allspice?).  All of our portions were big, so come hungry.

Finally, I continued my love affair with Fall. I had hoped to whip up some true Oktoberfest fare, with beers, brats and sauerkraut. Yum! Sadly, all I could muster was was a Pumpkin Bread Pudding and some pumpkin beer. I substituted dried cranberries for the raisins, but I didn't even get around to making the caramel sauce. The morning after I baked the pudding, I was hit and hit hard by the flu. I only tried one piece before my convalescence. Unfortunately, I can't really remember much beyond that other than it was pumpkiny. After that, I was on a strict diet of oatmeal, oatmeal and bread for days.

Coming up: I try my hand at a couple Eastern Mediterranean-inspired meals from my new cookbook: Spice: Flavors of the Eastern Mediterranean.

Brunch at the Blue Duck Tavern

Although the Blue Duck Tavern is not a place I am likely to visit outside of the affordable confines of Restaurant Week (yikes!), my aunt and uncle were in town helping my cousin set up her new apartment and graciously invited me to the Blue Duck for an interesting brunch.

Interesting could be the watchword for this restaurant. Walking in was like entering a scene form Stargate. I felt like I was entering the foodie temple of the Sun god. The entrance itself is a set of huge, black, double doors that a) don't look like they open, and b) have no discernible sign that they lead to the restaurant. (Leap of Faith?) Once inside, one immediately goes up and down a series of small stone steps, while sunlight floods through a wall of windows. We had seats by the kitchen, which apparently is the place to be, so one can watch the chefs as dishes are prepared and served.

If anything Anthony Bourdain writes it to be believed, having an open kitchen must be absolute hell for a chef. I was expecting a milder version of Bourdain's wild, profane kitchens or even the fast-paced world of Bill Buford, but what I got was more akin to a sedate episode of Iron Chef America. Frankly, I forgot they were there. Perhaps it is a little more exciting for dinner service, instead of a sleepy brunch, but let's be serious here, folks, we all know I was more interested in eating the food. Luckily, the food was as interesting as the ambiance.

We started with mimosas and croissants, which were excellent. The jams, cream and honey were perfect. I ordered the sour dough pancake with port poached figs and fig molasses. (!!) The tangy and gooey chunks of fig combined with the light and fruity fig molasses (oh my), balanced the denseness of the pancake, keeping it from feeling too heavy. It was a sin to leave a morsel on that plate, which was not even a plate. My giant pancake was served in an equally huge skillet. In the succinct words of my uncle: "Big? That thing is a Buick." After croissants and jams, it easily defeated me.

My one reservation about this restaurant, as I mentioned, was the price. My aunt's eggs benedict looked a little on the small side for $17. Now, I know I am not brunching at Denny's or IHOP and that the best ingredients cost a little more, but I am still going through vicarious price shock for this brunch. (Thankfully, my aunt and uncle were picking up the tab).  Sure, I had a truck of a pancake, but I have to wonder if I had ordered another, smaller, dish, would I have left hungry and poor? Perhaps the added cost is a necessary offering to the Sun god. That being said, I loved my fig pancake and would be happy eating here again.

Vacation Edition: OBX, NC

Seafood Spectacular! That's right, folks, I got down with my bad, raw bar self. I also ate enough shrimp to satiate a small whale. My foodcation continued, perhaps without the same level of success as the Cape, but there were still many good eats to be had. I ate 15 oysters in one sitting! Awful Arthur's Oyster Bar had huge, fresh and flavorful oysters (and didn't skimp on the portions), but the spiced shrimp were a little, "meh," and the bartender in the upstairs lounge seemed a little inexperienced. (In Arthur's defense, I tried the spiced shrimp at Dirty Dick's Crab House, by which Arthur's suffered in comparison. More on that later).

In the lounge, I ordered a Blue Moon to nurse while we waited for a table. The bartender said they didn't have any orange slices, but would I like some orange juice? -- Do people do this? - I paused for a minute and said, "Sorry, I was confused. I thought you just offered me orange juice with my beer." To which he replied, "Yeah, I did." It was just too ridiculous, so of course I responded, "Oh, yes, I'll have some." (?!) There was a split second when I contemplated pouring the shot of orange juice, which was served in a paper, 8-ounce Dixie cup, into my beer, but opted to just carry the thing awkwardly around with me until we were seated. Am I missing something? Was I meant to sip the juice as a chaser with every drink of my beer? Please, if you know, pass that knowledge this way. Moving on...

I have an embarrassing confession to make. I was warned it might happen. The signs were there all along the way. But I couldn't help myself; I got crabs at Dirty Dick's. OK, so the real shocker here is not my little confession, it is the gift shop in the restaurant, which sells - at eye-level with small children - thong underwear, printed with pictures of sultry, well-endowed lady-shrimps with the words: "Peel me. Eat me." W-O-W. Is there anything left to say? The King crab legs were good (I'd never had them before) and the spiced (peel and eat) shrimp was very tasty, but the atmosphere was that of an ice cream parlor in hell, with a huge, blue-lit bar in the center and checkerboard tablecloths on the tables. This place really needs to decide if it is a lame, dirty joke, or a purveyor of family-friendly-fish-fare. Needless to say, it did not merit a picture. Whew.

Tortugas' Lie

Delicious! Our last night my boyfriend and I stumbled on this "local favorite." We split an order of Conch fritters, because I had never had Conch. It was a little hard to tell whether or not I like Conch, with all the friedness it was coated in, but I think I did. Sadly, I can't be any more descriptive than that. However, my entree, the Coco Loco Chicken, while also fried, was full of flavors and textures. The chicken was covered with flakes of coconut and served with an addictive lime-curry dipping sauce, freshly complementing and cooling the hearty crunch of the fried coconut. If the chicken looks a little funny in the photo, it is because, yes, I had to have a bite before I took out my camera to capture this chicken macaroon. Like many of the dishes on the menu, the chicken came with rice, black beans and salsa, which I enjoyed stirring together and covering with my remaining lime-curry sauce. Delish!

Now that I have spent a large portion of my disposable income for the summer, it is back to home cooked casseroles and cakes. Fortunately, I have finally settled my dispute with Bon Appetit and new additions will be rolling in monthly. Additionally, I have a few cooking classes in the fall, which should provide new directions, even if it is in the dessert department.

Vacation Edition: Cape Cod

Whew, I have just spent two amazing weeks eating myself silly, first down the Cape, then on the Outer Banks of North Carolina. The first stop on my cuisine tour of the East Coast was the Blue Moon Bistro . Growing up, this location was a superb breakfast place called the Snow Goose. The place was a staple of my young summer diet. Since the Snow Goose departed, the location has been several different things, but I sincerely hope that the Blue Moon Bistro is here to stay. I started with a cup of the Gazpacho, which was thicker than I make, but with a very satisfying hint of spiciness. For my main course I tried the Butternut Squash Ravioli, which was heavy (obviously), but I was delighted that the accompanying cream sauce was light and flavorful, balancing well with the sweetness of the caramelized onions and the packed-to-capacity ravioli. This entree is offered in a smaller version, which looking back, I should have ordered, but only because there was bread pudding on the dessert menu, which NEEDED (we have discussed this) to be tasted.

My parents both had a swordfish special, which I am sure was fresh and delish, but since my seafood intake is strictly limited to raw bars, sushi and most crustaceans, I didn't save room to try a bite. My only reservation was that the bread pudding could have been zippier, as it has a grandma's-homemade-from-what-was-in-the-pantry feel. Personally, I feel that bread pudding is such a staple, the excitement of eating it comes from combining interesting ingredients (banana, caramel, liquor, croissants) while maintaining the comfort-food appeal. All in all, a basic raisin bread pudding still hits the mark.

If you love the Cape, as I do, and are looking for something a little more interesting that the basic family-friendly-(read: fish stick)-fare, I highly recommend the Blue Moon Bistro (even though I will always miss my precious Snow Goose.

The Red Pheasant

My other notable stop was The Red Pheasant Inn, dining at which I regard as a personal, foodie victory for two reasons. One, I ordered the duck, which I have never had before. Two, the Red Pheasant has always been the parents'-night-out dinner spot, for which the kids (my brother and me) were left with a stack of VHS and a take-away pizza, while my parents wined and dined down the street. Not that I blame them. I wouldn't want to spend nearly $30 on an entree my child would merely poke at before becoming too anxious to sit still and go running under the feet of the wait-staff. Therefore, I find is doubly rewarding that my literal and figurative entrance into the adult dining world of my childhood should be greeted with a dish of which I have never partaken.

The duck(ling). There was some debate on the onset, between my father and me, as to whether or not the mouthwateringly melty layer of fat on the top of the duck should be eaten. Having never eaten duck before, I was somehow convinced that eating the fat, with the meat, was a crucial part of the duck-eating experience. Despite the fact that my father didn't agree, I followed my instincts and was back-of-the-knee-tinglingly rewarded. I was fortified by a passage I read in Bill Buford's "Heat," in which Mario Batali feeds very thin slices of pork fat to Bulford's dinner guests, while telling Bulford that at his restaurant it is served as "prosciutto bianco" so as not to upset the lardo-phobes. I usually fear an excess of fat, as it is often accompanied by grizzle (yuck!), but eating this dish whole was possibly a life altering event. I promise never again to fear the presence of fat on my plate. Cross my heart.

More to come (with pictures!): Vacation Edition: Outer Banks.

Manchego, Krispy Kreme and New Orleans

I've been playing with the idea of starting a food blog, since - let's be honest here - until baseball starts, food is the only recreational activity that truly interests me. Plus, I try new restaurants, recipes and techniques all the time, so I'll be detailing all of my successes and failures.

But first, a review of my weekend exploits. Ah, New Orleans, what a fabulous gastronomical experience you are. I had a grand time. I worry that I am becoming an old lady, because Becca and I barely "went out." We ATE OUT quite a bit, but we didn't do the whole drinking-until-dawn routine of our youth. Honestly, I think both of us were ok with that. We had some very good heart-to-hearts. Despite the fact that both of us still have no idea what to do about our differing little dramas, we ended our trip feeling satisfied in our heads, hearts and tummies.

Friday night we went to a place called Mimi's in the Marigny. Mimi's is right by Becca's apartment and was recently voted best bar by the Gambit Weekly, although my friend Andy says he's not quite sold. We chose a sampling from the Hot Tapas Menu , the pinnacle of which was the Mushroom Manchego Toast. This little square of cheesy goodness was piled high with shaved mushrooms, a soft, melty layer of salty manchego and just-solid-enough piece of toast. Manchego was one of our cheeses of choice in high school, so it was fitting that it still has the power to bring Becca and me together.

The next day we went to the home of the famous Purple Truck, Boucherie. The small plates, alone, are well worth a return visit. I have to admit, that Boucherie may have been my favorite meal of the weekend. We went in for lunch and enjoyed a couple bottles of Abita Amber, which was surprisingly good, considering I have only ever had their very sweet Purple Haze. We started off with the Collard Greens and Grit Fries as well as a plate of the French Fries with Garlic Butter & Parmesan Reggiano. So good. I have to say I preferred Becca's BBQ Shrimp Po'boy to my Pulled Pork Cake, which was a little ridiculously constructed as a leaning-tower-of-pork. But the real gem at this place (which I will be attempting soon) was a Krispy Kreme bread pudding. It doesn't take much to get me excited about a bread pudding, but the super sweet hint of donut glaze in every other bite was transporting. There is something about glazed donuts that makes me feel so carefree.

While I had intended to try the fried alligator appetizer at Cochon, Becca insisted that I try the Fried Rabbit Livers. I don't think I've ever had liver, regardless of who it belongs to, but this was very good. It had a funny consistency that felt kind of like goat cheese, which weirded me out when I realized it wasn't. But I powered through and enjoyed myself thoroughly.

In other food related news, I found what is rumored to be a very fun cooking school that offers recreational classes. They do demonstration and participation classes for pretty much everything under the sun. I am going to a demonstration class (read: cheaper) this weekend on "dessert tapas" where we'll be trying bite-size delectables. I am very excited. One of my co-workers says he has bought their classes as gifts for his wife and that they are: "fun, social and involve food, " which pretty much meets my essential requirements for any kind of event. Apparently, I am going to an authentic Scottish bar this weekend as well. Mini raspberry cheesecakes to lamb haggis. Stay tuned.